Whom Gods Destroy
by Swift-Star9
Summary: He was always a nobody. After his brother left, everything human inside died. "Quem deus vult perdere, dementat prius." 14th-centric.


**A/N:  
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**Inspired from a long week of difficulty, I opened a document, thought of the 14th's past, and my fingers moved. I will update Trial By Fire when I actually can get past the one paragraph block I wrote myself into.  
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**Disclaimer: I do not own D. Gray-man. Nor do I own the expression from Euripedes "Whom the gods would destroy they first make mad."**

**Theme for this fic: "Caleb" by Sonata Arctica. If you listen to it, you'll understand the context of this fic. Brilliant piano chords on their part.**

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He had never been someone. Always a nobody. He was used to the spit, the scorning words, the beatings. Existing on the fringe of society, barely living. A nobody surviving on love and hatred. He didn't believe in anything. Hard to look up, surrounded in aspirations to hatred and rage. Only two ways out: die or kill.

He had never known "birthdays", celebrations over his life. He had simply been dropped on his father's doorstep. His mother had abandoned him. He never remembered her face, but he knew she must've hated him. She hated her life, she hated the world, she hated God, and she hated him. She hated. Damn how it made sense why she hated him. His father was a monster. That man lived to steal and beat others for money, joining with a gang whenever he wanted and always returning, angry and enraged and with a bottle in hand. Shatter onto the floor, shards tearing into whatever happened to be around. Screams, yelling, rage directed at everything. At a world that hated, as someone who hated.

Like he was different. He was scum too. He was the progeny of that man. Descended from two demons. But he was worse. He was fodder among vultures. He could never defend himself. When he heard the screams, felt the pain, he would say nothing, do nothing. He only could hear his thoughts, spinning in a loose mess, screaming inside to just disappear. If he was so hideous, so pathetic, what was there to protect? He would hear that man scream, throw him across the room, saying something about his hair.

His hair. Why the hell was it always his hair, his eyes? That man would scream, scream about unfaithful bitches, whores. He was different, not like that man. His hair was strangely curled, it would never straighten no matter what he did. His eyes were a piercing silver. He was not physically strong. His father had straight hair, dark brown eyes, and had the muscles of a bully. Hell, that man was a bully. But he himself was weak. All he could damn was his mother for cursing him. Even as he did that, he hated himself for having to rely on cursing others. He was such a pathetic soul, overfull with self-pity and rage.

No way out.

Only one thing existed to keep him from disappearing forever at night.

His earliest memory was seeing his brother. Mana. He stood out, a kind soul in hell. Mana would protect him, sing him to sleep at night, hug him. Mana would stand in front of that man's rage, and that man would back down. He supposed it was because Mana looked almost exactly like that man, dark-eyed. He had only met Mana when he was just out of the crib. Mana would smile, hugging his younger brother. He was told he was loved, every one loved him.

At first, he didn't believe it. How could anyone love him? Then things changed as Mana was with him. His father stopped drinking, at least in his eyes. That man had found a job in manual labor, perfect for that man. His father even came home and hugged him. That was when he realized Mana was right: he was loved. The world opened, and now he had escaped.

That fateful day – when Mana had to leave. Mana had said he needed to find work, since there were not many opportunities where they lived. They cried, and Mana asked him "do you want to come with me?"

And he answered, something he would deeply regret the rest of his life.

"I'll be fine! Papa and I will be great!"

Once he left, everything that had grown inside him began to fail. Feelings, happiness, started to decay. He missed Mana deeply, but he held out hope. He had hoped. Every part of him that was human would only die that night, months after Mana left. The moment that man came back.

Winter evening. Snow touched icy ground and caressed it. It was cold. He had hoped. The door opened. He ran up to his father to hug him, happy. He failed to see the his father was holding something. His father appreciated hugs, or so he was told. His father was looking less happy. So he would make him happy. Things changed, won't yesterday be eternity here?

Glass shards embedded in his face, alcohol seeped and burned the wounds. _Huh?_ He barely could realize he was bleeding. His father now screamed, threatened:

"Where did my real son go? Who the hell are you? Why is trash like you in my house? Get out! Or I'll kill you!"

Disbelief. He couldn't remember anything, couldn't think.

_Was everything a lie?_

_Were you a lie?_

_Was Mana a lie?_

_Will you now kill me?_

"Get out!"

He screamed, his arm cracking. His father kicked him into the wall. A fist stabbed into his gut. His eyes filled with tears. Reality faded, pain consumed him.

He longed to keel over and die. Nothing had changed. Everything had been the same. When push came to shove, he would collapse and die. Was that all his life would ever amount to?

_I can't die yet._

It was a foreign synapse, something that he never thought. Something pulsed within him. He would not die. Die for someone worthless? Killed by such a screwed up individual? Like hell. His thoughts took fire, and his head was filled with thousands of thoughts, not one completely his own. Cacophonies of sound enveloped his mind, a focused central melody led him to a sudden realization. His face started to twist into a sick grin.

_I'll simply kill you._

The drunk bastard was lazily waving his fist, screaming. How sad. Completely open. Why wasn't he already dead?

He lifted himself and lunged at the man. The man only had time to widen his eyes before he kicked him down. His hands gripped the man's neck. The man flailed, slamming his fist into the kid's skull. The man screamed, the kid was unharmed at a blow that would kill anyone. The kid still was grinning as his eyes changed.

He would not stop, nothing stopped him. The man, choking on his last breath, stared at the face of his death: not his son, not the kid he had power over.

A sadistic grinning ashen-skinned gold-eyed demon, taking him to the depths of hell.

_Quem deus vult perdere, dementat prius._


End file.
